


Mess That You Wanted

by 100percentsunshine



Series: We Love Without Reason; kaylor one shots [28]
Category: Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: 2016 was a rough year for everyone involved, Anxiety Attacks, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 22:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19839877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100percentsunshine/pseuds/100percentsunshine
Summary: “She puts way too much pressure on herself.  If she doesn’t win, she’ll take it as a personal insult to her character, instead of just work stuff.  She’s put so much of herself into this album and this tour, and I’m just worried that if it doesn’t all...go as planned that she’s going to crash and burn.”





	Mess That You Wanted

Dinner starts and you can’t help but notice Taylor has barely touched her food. She’s pushing it around her plate, and you watch as she takes a tiny bite and proceeds to wash it down with a lot of water. It’s something she does when she’s anxious, you know, and you try to think of what has set her off. Everything has seemed fine today— you left early in the morning to drive up to your parents’ house. Your sisters and you have been planning to come down for a weekend for months. You start paying more attention to her movements. She’s quiet and seems a little out of it, but her breathing seems alright, so you try not to worry too much. She could just be overthinking something.

As the meal progresses, you realize that it might be more serious than she’s letting on. She’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and has only eaten about half of what’s on her plate. Her thigh is bouncing up and down, so you put a hand on it under the table and her hand grabs onto yours like it's a lifeline. You squeeze it to reassure her that everything's fine, and move a little closer to her so your legs are touching.

You manage to make it through dinner without a major fiasco. But as soon as your mom jumps up to clear the table, Taylor excuses herself to the bathroom. As she walks away, you notice how pale she looks. You see how she’s folded into herself, and so you follow without a second thought. She sprints up the stairs to the bathroom across the hall from the guest room and almost slams the door in your face because she doesn’t realize you’re behind her. 

“Woah, what’s going on?” you ask, closing and locking the door behind you. She’s gripping the edge of the counter, a curtain of hair falling in her eyes. You can tell that whatever she’s been pushing back for the past 30 minutes— maybe longer— has finally culminated in a fever pitch that she can’t fight any longer. You put a gentle hand on her back. You can feel her heart _pounding. _“You’re okay, sweetheart, can you talk to me?” you plead.__

__“I can’t breathe, can’t breathe, I’m having a heart attack, I can’t breathe,” she mumbles in a voice that doesn’t really sound like her own. You can see her chest rising up and down at an alarming rate._ _

__“Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay,” you say in what you hope is a reassuring tone. “Let’s sit down and try to take some deep breaths, okay?” You guide her into a sitting position so she’s sort of half sitting on your lap and her head is on your chest. Your hand rubs her back and the other finds hers. She grabs it and squeezes hard. “We’re going to count our breaths, okay?” She nods, and you start to do it with her: 4 counts in, 4 counts hold, 4 counts out. You tap your foot on the ground to count, and soon you can see her chest start to rise and fall to the rhythm. You stay like that, just holding her for about five minutes, until you’re convinced that she’s stopped hyperventilating._ _

__“Good job, you’re doing great, baby,” you say._ _

__“You don’t have to treat me like a child!” she snaps. You know that it’s a product of the shame and guilt that’s setting in as the attack wanes, but it stings nonetheless._ _

__“I’m just trying to help…” you say under your breath._ _

__“I know, I’m sorry,” her voice cracks and she buries her face back into your chest. You feel her start to shake with sobs._ _

__“It’s okay, but Taylor what’s going on? Did someone say something at dinner? I can’t figure out what set you off.”_ _

__“I…” she wipes her face off with her hand, “No..no it’s nothing like that. It’s just been _so bad _recently. It’s never been this bad. It just feels like...I can’t breathe and I'm so tired and it’s so hard to eat because my stomach is in knots and I’m just so on edge all the time! And I don’t know why...maybe it’s because of Grammys coming up?”___ _

____You heart breaks for her, because you know how dark it can get inside her head sometimes, and there’s nothing you can do besides sitting with her and reminding her over and over again that she’s safe, that she’s enough, that she shouldn’t listen to her doubts and second guesses and insecurities._ _ _ _

____“Maybe...maybe you should think about therapy,” you suggest quietly, “You don’t need to be feeling like this all the time.” You're scared to see how she'll react to this. She's fragile right now, not fully back to normal. You can still feel her trembling and there's a sheen of sweat shining on her forehead._ _ _ _

____So when she just says, “Okay,” in a defeated tone, you know that it must be worse than you thought. Because Taylor doesn't relinquish control like that easily unless something is very wrong._ _ _ _

____“Okay?” you reply in disbelief._ _ _ _

____“Yeah.” She shoots you a smile but it looks more like a grimace. “I think...I think I might be ready to try that again.”_ _ _ _

____“We'll look into it,” you promise her, pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead. When you see her up close, you notice how tired her eyes look. “Baby, if you want you can go up to sleep. We were just going to watch a movie.”_ _ _ _

____She shakes her head. “Hanging out with you guys keeps me sane. Sleep is for the weak.”_ _ _ _

____Then, right in cue, you receive a text from Kimby: **you two better not be fucking in the bathroom.**_ _ _ _

____You giggle and reply with: 😉— even though that's far from the truth._ _ _ _

“Kimby’s asking where we are,” you say cautiously, not wanting to pressure Taylor into getting up if she's not ready. 

“Okay,” she nods, untangling herself from your lap, and standing up on unsteady feet. “You go. I need to fix my makeup. I'll be out in a few minutes.” 

“Are you sure?” you ask, skeptically.

She rolls her eyes, “I can be alone for five minutes and not fall apart, you know.”

You roll your eyes right back but don't comment because you do know. Yeah, Taylor deals with some pretty serious mental health issues sometimes, but they're just one facet of her. Underneath, she's still the sassy, passionate, empathetic, strong woman the world knows. Instead you ask, “Is it okay if I tell them what happened?” 

And here, you see her anxiety and insecurities creep back out as she considers the opinions and judgement of other people. But you know now that this is just another part of her, an unfavorable and unforgiving part, yes, but a part of her nonetheless. She's had to learn how to be okay with that, and you have to as well. 

“Are you sure they won't...judge me for it?” she asks quietly.

“They wouldn't,” you say firmly. “And if they did, they'd be wrong to anyway. My dad's a doctor, he knows how serious anxiety attacks can be.” 

“Okay,” she pulls you into a hug and you rub her back for a second. You kiss her before you leave the room, shutting the door behind you.

Kimby is waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. “You two have a good time in there?” she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

You shove her out of your way and stick your tongue out as you make your way back to the dining room. “Not everything is about sex, Kimberly.” You grab the last of the plates still left on the table and head into the kitchen.

“There you are, Karlie,” your mom says as you put them into the sink. “Come help me serve ice cream.”

“Hey, Kar,” Kristine says, carrying over a large stack of bowls. “Where’s Taylor?”

“She...she’s upstairs. She was having an anxiety attack,” you say seriously. 

Kimby’s smirk morphs into an expression of concern. “Jesus. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” you reassure everyone, “She just needs a minute before she comes back downstairs. She’s been dealing with a lot of stress from work lately.”

“Well if she’s stressing about Grammys, she shouldn’t be,” Kariann says, “She’s got that in the bag.”

“1989 is an iconic pop masterpiece, everyone knows this,” Kimby adds.

“She puts way too much pressure on herself. If she doesn’t win, she’ll take it as a personal insult to her character, instead of just work stuff. She’s put so much of herself into this album and this tour, and I’m just worried that if it doesn’t all...go as planned that she’s going to crash and burn.” You confess this with a sigh, your shoulders slumping as you reiterate some of your biggest fears. “She’s overworked. Even with tour ending she’s been pushing herself way too hard, and I think now she’s dealing with the repercussions of that.”

Mom pulls you into a hug. “She’s a strong girl, Karlie. She’ll get through it. And she has you, and lots of other people to lean on when it gets tough.”

“You’re right, mom,” you say, and you’re surprised to find yourself a little teary eyed.

You finish scooping ice cream and take the plates out to the living room, where your dad is setting up the movie. To your surprise, you find him deep in conversation with Taylor, who looks a lot more put together than when you last saw her— but still a little tired. 

“We’ve got the goods!” Kimby announces as she awkwardly places the three ice cream bowls she managed to fit in her hands on the coffee table. 

Taylor turns around and squeals. “Mint chocolate chip! Yes!”

You sit down on the couch and she curls up next to you. “Are you feeling better?” you ask in a hushed tone. She nods. “Do you want me to get you a glass of water?” 

“That’s okay,” she whispers back. “Do...did you tell your mom and sisters?” You nod and she smiles at you, exhaling a slightly shaky breath. “I’m sorry for being such a mess recently.”

You chuckle. “If you’re a mess, then you’re the kind of mess I want,” you press a kiss to her temple and pull her close to you. She barely makes it through half of the movie before falling asleep. This you are grateful for, seeing as it’s not exactly a secret that Taylor often has trouble sleeping. She looks so peaceful, and you are glad that she is able to catch a break from her anxiety, even if only for a few hours.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back I guess? Hopefully I'll be more active on here now, though I'm about to go into my senior year of high school so...probably not lol. But dude, I forget that I like writing sometimes! I have so much unfinished stuff, so I should get on that and finish some more angsty one shots. I also recently got into the show Crazy Ex Girlfriend (it's amazing and not at all what it sounds like, I promise), so I would love to write some fics for that sometime soon.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around!


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